


Wild Magic

by shadow_prince



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Get Together, Irish Merrow, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Raising Harry Potter, Single Parents, merman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22398514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_prince/pseuds/shadow_prince
Summary: The magic was wilder here than anything Sirius had ever felt. The muggles were exceptionally superstitious, and to begin with Sirius had scoffed at their “wards” drawn in chalk and different beads and strings and charms hung outside the run-down and time-worn shacks, but the longer he spent in the village the more he understood. Magic was so thick and untamed that even they could feel it, and mystical beasts that he had not heard of before intermingled with their normal creatures until it was impossible to tell where the magical and non-magical worlds began and ended in relation to one another.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 33
Kudos: 162
Collections: RS Fireside Tales Vol.2





	Wild Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the mods for your patience and to my lovely beta.

When he first sped off into the night, Harry a bundle strapped to his chest, Sirius hadn’t dared to use any magic at all for fear of it being traced by the Death Eaters. Dumbledore hadn’t even allowed him a Portkey—too dangerous, too much risk, he had said—as if an infant on a motorcycle was any better as they raced across the breadth of the United Kingdom as fast as Sirius could trust himself to go. It was by dumb luck there was a ferry large enough to fit his bike as they crossed St. George’s Channel.

As soon as his boots touched the Irish soil he felt safer, but continued his trek as far west as he could, finally settling in a remote fishing village past Galway. At first he heard from Dumbledore—money for his flat that the older wizard had sold for him, bits and pieces of news or words of warning, and above all, reminders to keep Harry hidden from the prying eyes of the wizarding world—but after the first year, filled with fumbling frustration and far too many tears, Sirius was left with no magical contacts outside of the Weasley family that lived down the dusty road. Although, the family was large enough to make up for it.

The magic was wilder here than anything Sirius had ever felt. The muggles were exceptionally superstitious, and to begin with Sirius had scoffed at their  _ “wards” _ drawn in chalk and different beads and strings and charms hung outside the run-down and time-worn shacks, but the longer he spent in the village the more he understood. Magic was so thick and untamed that even they could feel it, and mystical beasts that he had not heard of before intermingled with their normal creatures until it was impossible to tell where the magical and non-magical worlds began and ended in relation to one another.

The cottage Sirius and Harry lived in was nothing more than cobbled together stones, worn smooth from years of salty ocean spray, and half reclaimed by the bluff creeping in and swallowing it back into the earth on one side. Sirius’ motorcycle was shoved into a boarded up shed under a dusty cloth, so long unused that often even he forgot its existence. 

With the eldest Weasley already attending Hogwarts, it was impossible to keep Harry from knowing of the magical world altogether as Dumbledore would have preferred. But then again, that was only one of the many places where Sirius and the old man disagreed, and one of the few where Sirius won out. He had argued that it was much easier to control a child’s magical ability when he knew he possessed it, rather than trying to explain it away as he grew into it. Dumbledore of course couldn’t deny that, nor could he deny how much safer both Sirius and Harry would be with the Weasley’s near by. 

And so The Boy Who Lived grew up running barefoot through the wild bluffs as green as his eyes—as green as Sirius remembered Lily’s—covered in wet sand and scraped knees from long days that he and the younger Weasleys spent scrambling over crags and exploring caves, while Sirius spent his days out on a boat hauling in fish from the briny depths of the blue-green ocean.

The sleeves of his wool sweater were pushed up past his elbows, once as brown as the rich soil, it was faded just like everything else in their life. “What did you do today, then?” Sirius asked as he pulled the pan of vegetables and potatoes and one of today’s catch out of the oven. There was never a shocking revelation or anything terribly exciting in the grand scheme of the world, but Sirius always made sure to ask Harry about his day, and Harry always had something that was terribly exciting in  _ his _ world to share.

“Ron and I were in one of the caves again. I slipped in the seaweed but a man in a red hat helped me. Then he played with us for a bit until Miss Molly found us.”

Sirius paused, frowning. “What man?”

Harry shrugged, shoving a small colourful potato in his mouth and talking around it. “He was in the water and pulled me back to the rocks.”

“Mr. Grehan?” he offered, naming one of the older fisherman who stayed close to the shore nowadays, fishing with his old rod rather than the nets that Sirius and the others used.

The little boy shook his head, but was much more focused on his food than Sirius’ concern. “Nope. He doesn’t live here. He went back into the water when Miss Molly called us. Oh! Padfoot you  _ have _ to see the rock I found today!”

Food forgotten, Harry crawled down from his chair and ran to the small wooden box he kept under his bed for treasures he found on the bluffs and beaches. Sticks and rocks and seashells. Anything that caught the little boy’s eye.

Outside the window lightning cracked, followed swiftly by a long growl of thunder. Sirius scowled, the weather had been perfect that day, he didn’t think it was going to storm. Outside the cottage he could hear the waves thrashing and roiling dangerously. He wondered if it would pass by tomorrow or if they’d have to leave the boats moored.

It was several days before Harry mentioned his mysterious visitor again, and Sirius frowned in concern as he listened. He didn’t like the idea of someone with Harry when Molly wasn’t there. Their small collective of magic users intermingled with the local muggles enough to not draw attention, but not enough that any of them were overly friendly or spent time alone with the children. The fact that Harry didn’t seem to know who it was alarmed him, but he argued with himself that it could be  _ any  _ of the villagers who happened along and knew the boys and watched after them for a bit.

Nonetheless, he mentioned it the next time he was at the Weasley’s Burrow for dinner, and Molly shook her head. “I’ve been right confused as well. Ronnie has mentioned someone playing with them, but whenever I find where they’ve run off to, there are no footprints in the sand, or any sign that someone else has been there.” A chill went up Sirius’ spine, but Molly continued, “I’m not sure whether they’ve come up with an imaginary friend or if it’s a bit of this wild magic about.”

Sirius wasn’t sure whether he was relieved it didn’t appear to be a stranger or Death Eater set on finding Harry, or more disconcerted by the fact that it didn’t appear to be any discernible  _ person  _ at all. His last letter from Dumbledore was more than a year ago and had assured him that nearly all of the Death Eater trials had been completed and that as far as safety went, Harry was as safe as he could be. All that remained was keeping him out of the eye of the larger wizarding world now, so that he might stand a chance at being a normal boy. Sirius stood on the lip of a bluff watching where Ron, Harry, and Ginny were playing a game below on the strand and wondered what James would do if he were still alive.

The next morning Sirius stood on the bluffs, staring off into the distance where the sea, fog, and sky blended together in varying shades of grey. A hot cup of tea cradled in his hands. Knowing it would be a while yet before Harry woke, he wandered down the worn wooden steps to the beaches below. His lips tasted of salty seaspray and it was hardly any brighter than night, but his body was more than used to the sparse light and rocky terrain by now, so as to be able to traverse the steps quietly and without stumbling.

Every so often, he thought he saw a glimpse of colour out of the corner of his eye, but each time he looked up there was naught. A trick of the light, the rising sun catching a wave, perhaps. His worn leather boots sank into the cold sand, his tread silent so that the only sound was the crashing of the morning waves. 

Leaning against the jut of a rock, he sipped his tea and surveyed the water, and almost gasped when a man broke the surface. At least, he assumed it must be a man by the flat bare chest, but he was unable to be sure as a bright red hood was pulled up and hiding his face deep within the shadows of its fabric. Sirius was only a few seconds from tossing his mug aside and wading out to the man’s rescue, strangeness of his attire and situation aside, when a scaled  _ tail _ flipped up over the water. The man twisted and propelled himself back down under the water as swiftly as he had appeared.

Sirius held perfectly still, waiting to see if the creature would resurface again, but as the minutes crept slowly by he did not see him again. Lightning crackled in the distance and he resigned himself to climbing the steps again to start breakfast for Harry.

A week later, Sirius was returning from hours out on the water with Molly’s brother and had almost convinced himself to give up what he had seen that morning as trick of the wild magic in the area. He leapt out of the boat and accepted the rope from Gideon, arms flexing as he pulled the little skiff to the dock and tied it off.

“Oi, innit that Molly’s owl?” he asked.

Twisting to peer over his shoulder while he finished off the knot, Sirius saw the shimmering of a patronus owl streaking through the sky. The owl landed on the post in front of Sirius and opened its beak.

Molly’s voice emerged, frantic and breathless as if she was hurrying, and Sirius’ heart lurched in his chest. “Sirius, you need to go get the boys. I left them playing on the beach with the twins. Ginny-” A pause echoed eerily from the patronus’ recording. “Ginny slipped on the rocks and I have- I have to take her to St. Mun- to the hospital.” The ending was abrupt and shook Sirius from where he was frozen.

It was not unheard of for Harry and Ron to be left alone with the twins for short bursts of time, but it was the equivalent of leaving small children with James and Sirius when they were the same age. In short, a bad idea. Gideon shooed him and said he would handle transporting their haul, so Sirius jogged off to fetch the kids.

As he approached the cove he knew they usually played in—splashing in the shallow water in the warmer months, and collecting shells and stones year round—he slowed his steps and cocked his ear, listening for the sounds of boisterous children to guide him toward where they might have gotten off to.

Harry’s squeals of glee cut through the air, a bubbling laughter that never failed to warm his chest. The sound reminded him of Lily in her first year at Hogwarts, unendingly amazed by the wonder of magic each time she witnessed something new and unimaginable to her muggle-born-mind.

Sirius came around the curve of an emerald green bluff and stopped in his tracks, blinking several times as if to clear his vision. In front of him was the man that he thought he had seen that early morning on the beach, with the red hood and shimmering tail of a fish.

He dove beneath the crystal clear waves, scooping up a glittering stone before perching on a large rock above the water and skipping the stone to Harry and Ron where they stood at the edge of the strand, the waves breaking at their ankles, scooping up the gift with glee and adding it to Harry’s bucket.

The man was beautiful, olive skin tinged slightly green, wet and glistening. His brown hair curled slightly as it dried, springing into soft waves the less it was weighed down by the ocean’s heavy water. A red cowl rested on his shoulders, but the hood was down this time, so that Sirius could see his face clearly. He was caught off guard by how attractive he found the man to be, having completely forgotten what it was like to stare at a pretty man and momentarily thrown entirely off kilter, he was left reeling.

What struck him most though, was the way he looked at Harry. There was no sadness, that often tinged the loving way that Molly or Arthur doted on the small boy. Sirius was sure that he was also guilty of a certain level of sadness when he gazed upon his godson, with Lily’s eyes staring back at him and James’ crooked nose and dark skin. No, the way the Merrow watched him was free from all of the weight of Harry’s past and shone only with unadulterated love.

Sirius took a step closer and the man’s head whipped toward him. His already large eyes went wider, staring at Sirius and body rigid. They both held perfectly still, waiting for the other to make a move, neither daring to take a breath.

Low rolling thunder broke the spell and the Merrow drew his red hood up over his head and dove beneath the waves. Sirius let out a deep sigh, unsure whether the knot—that had buried itself in his chest since wondering about the stranger spending time with Harry—was looser or tighter.

He found himself obsessing the next several days over every little detail of what he had seen. What the Merrow looked like, how he had looked at Harry, how he had paused and studied him before fleeing. He spent every spare moment he had scouring books in his own and the Weasley’s library for anything that might shed light on the creature’s behaviour. 

He learned that the Irish Merrow were similar physically to the merpeople he was familiar with in England and Scotland, but that their personalities were drastically different than their brethren. While the others were very fierce, independent, and prone to trickery, their Irish counterpart were friendly, paternal, and particularly loved children. One source hinted that they were able to transform and walk on land, but the details of how were lost and Sirius forbade himself from thinking on it too long.

Sirius felt like his entire world had been flipped upside down, but somehow not changed at all, like when you’re in a dream, but so much of your daily life is left intact that you’re unsure whether it’s dream or reality after all. It became commonplace for Harry to tell Sirius stories about the Merrow over dinner or show him new shells and rocks they had collected together while Sirius was out on the fishing boat.

A few months after Harry’s first story, he informed Sirius that the Merrow’s name was Remus. When Sirius caught himself some time later telling Harry to  _ “behave for Remus”  _ as he left for work one evening, he had to stop and shake his head in disbelief before dragging himself off toward the docks. If only Dumbledore could see him, apparently, raising the saviour of the wizarding world jointly with a merman.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed that the sun had gone down. Sirius could smell the storm before he could see it, the warm summer wind blowing in colder over the water and carrying a heavy weight to it. When the clouds rushed in, covering the stars like a winter quilt being drawn over a bed while snow lay thick outside, Sirius knew he had made a mistake in coming out alone. 

Leaning over the side, he pulled the net as quickly back in as he could, caring little how many fish escaped in his haste. He was dropping the oars to point his boat toward the shore when the first crack of lightning illuminated the sky. The churning water was a sickening green reminiscent of the Slytherin common room, a bolt of nausea shooting through Sirius’ gut at the flashback of turbulent and gut-wrenching nights spent under the invisibility cloak with James checking on Regulus.

The little boat rocked dangerously over the rising waves and Sirius fought the rising tide of hopelessness and dread in his chest.  _ Push forward, draw back, push forward, draw back.  _ His oars cut through the water, but even for his years of experience now it felt like he was jolting one bit forward just to be drug three lengths back away from the shore.

Water splashed over the edge, his boots sloshing laces-deep in a pool that he ignored. The next wave hit him in the face, spluttering and coughing water, trying to rub it out of his eyes with his already drenched shirt. The boat jerked, twisting him away from the shore that he could no longer see. As he struggled to orient himself to at least be cutting through the waves again, a large swell rose and crashed down on his side, upturning his boat and dragging Sirius down into the frigid sea.

He broke the surface in time to see a wave shatter his boat and drag him back under the water, pulling him down and down. He struggled to kick, but wasn’t sure whether he was even going in the right direction. It was so dark everywhere, was that up or down? His head broke above the water and he gasped a lung full of air, but was promptly knocked back under by a wave crashing over him. A piece of wood from his shattered boat hit his side and he sunk deeper beneath the briny depths. 

He closed his eyes against the flash of pain and the searing cold that was seeping into his bones. Something closed around his wrist and gave a small tug.

_ Harry. I have to open my eyes for Harry. _

Sirius drug his eyes open and caught a brief glimpse of red. The last thing he remembered was what felt like an arm around his waist, and then everything went dark.

When next he opened his eyes, it felt as if they had been glued shut and he had swallowed half the sea. When he coughed to clear his throat, he very quickly found himself hacking and unable to stop. An arm slipped under his back and helped him to sit up and holding him steady until he was able to accept the glass of clean water from them. “Careful there, slowly now.” His voice was lilting and musical. Sirius rubbed at his eyes and squinted in the dark to be sure he was seeing aright. The arm lowered him back gently, this time onto propped up pillows.

“Remus? Remus is Sirius alright?”

“Yes, Harry, he’s alright. Back to sleep now,  _ macushla _ .”

Harry peered into Sirius’ room, but Remus caught him around the middle before he could launch himself onto Sirius. Settling the boy easily on his hip, he ruffled Harry’s hair affectionately. “He’s still sick, my love. Let’s say good night and you will see him in the morning.”

Harry’s bottom lip jutted out threatening tears, but Remus’ fingers ran soothingly through his hair still. “Feel better,” he told Sirius, his voice wobbly. 

Sirius’ voice was scratchy and his throat ached. “See you in the morning, Haz.”

After settling Harry back in bed, Remus tossed another two logs onto the fireplace and stoked it as if he had been here a million times before. He moved easily in the space, dodging Sirius’ wet boots and books Harry had left out, before returning to perch on the edge of Sirius’ bed, watching him intently. 

“Thank you,” Sirius whispered.

Remus just smiled. Slowly he reached out and Sirius closed his eyes as long fingers threaded their way into his hair, gently teasing out the saltwater tangled knots. “Of course,” he answered finally. 

They were both quiet for a while, until Sirius caught him around the wrist, his thumb stroking over Remus’ pulsepoint. You don’t have your hood on.

Remus swallowed and Sirius watched the way his throat bobbed with it. “No, I.” He looked away, toward the fireplace, before taking a deep breath, as if steeling himself. When he looked back, his eyes were both fierce and hesitant. “I- I hung it up. I thought. Well. You and Harry might need me for a bit.”

Sirius held his wrist tighter and smiled. “For a bit, hmm?”

“Maybe more than a bit.”

“I hope- Well. I hope for a lot more than a bit.”

Remus’ smile was flooded with relief. Sirius pressed a kiss to Remus’ palm before turning his cheek into the warm hand and allowing himself to drift back off to sleep in the safety of their warm home.


End file.
